


Effects of the Feud

by gold_pen_leaps



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Fake Enemies, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sharing a bathtub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 00:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_pen_leaps/pseuds/gold_pen_leaps
Summary: The Avengers are sent on a diplomatic excursion to Asgard. It's important that the two Realms get along.One problem: Most Asgardians don't like anyone who likes Loki.





	Effects of the Feud

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to silver_drip, who so kindly chatted with me about this fic and gave it a quick read-through. I don't think I've seen anyone quite so diligent about commenting on fics.  
> All mistakes are mine.
> 
> 12/05/17: I hope the formatting is better now.

It rains, of course.

  
It isn't enough that he has to do this whole dick measuring contest without his armor, observed by a crowd of arrogant strangers, using a weapon he isn't an expert in: he also has to fight in the mud.

  
His opponent is unbothered. He even looks good. His dark hair is starting to curl, and the water makes his skin practically glow. 

There's a steady look in his eyes that wasn't there at the start of this, when he had been all grins and traded taunts. Isn't he cold? 

Tony is cold, and he's the one wearing a shirt.  
Inevitably, it's a combination of the mud and his tiredness that gets to him. He lunges forward too fast, slips, falls (thanks to Nat, who taught him how, he doesn't break an arm) and then rolls over to-

  
He’s on his back, with a stick pointed at his collarbone. If that had been a pointy stick, well...“You lose,” Loki says. Immediately after the words leave his mouth, the gong rings.  
Before Tony can say anything even remotely to the effect of “good game”, Loki has withdrawn his stick and started walking towards his end of the field.

  
Tony helps himself to his feet.

 

Thor is in Loki’s tent at the other side of the field, where a good brother should be. In fact, a lot of people should be there, considering that Loki won. It’s where the other Avengers are, since they don't want to offend anyone. Technically, they could support either side, but it's safer to support whoever won.

Therefore, Tony is surprised by the crowd waiting for him. These people don't have to worry about inter-realm relations, Tony realizes, not when they have their own in-realm cliques to keep track of. They offer regrets over the loss and praise about a battle well-fought.

  
_So this is what it means to be well-liked by a court of nobles._  
It's rather tedious.

  
A few of the crowd had offered to walk Tony back, but he had declined, saying that he prefers some time alone to unwind. This was met with pitying looks, since most of them seemed to think that unwind was code for mope about the loss.

  
Fandral speaks to Tony when most of them have left and Tony is finally free to figure out what the hell the custom is for putting back weapons after a duel. “You should have demanded a rematch,” he tells him.

  
Tony wipes as much mud from the stick as he can and places it in the bin he got it from.

“He won, didn't he?”

  
Fandral nods. “Yes. It is well within the rules. But it is a dishonorable way to win, to strike one who is already down.”

  
He frowns. If it wasn't against the rules… Then, he notices how Fandral is watching him. This is one of those things. This is Asgard, and Tony can't afford to forget it.

  
He shrugs. “We don't really do this sort of sport on Ea- on Midgard. The team-based stuff is more popular. I can't bother to pay attention to how it is played here.” That’d be what they'd say, right?

  
“He insulted your honor.”

  
Oh, now he gets it. Honor, as it always was.

“Oh, that. I'll know what to expect next time.”  
Fandral visibly brightens at the phrase “next time”.

  
Tony gestures at his clothing. “Listen, I'd love to talk…”

  
“By all means! There's a feast tonight, and you must have the right attire.”

 

-

 

He's shivering a little when he reaches his rooms. (He refuses to call them his quarters.)  
He looks around when he gets inside, but there's no one. He has to fill the tub himself, since he had scared the servant off that one time. He misses showers; just jump in and shampoo your hair.

  
He peels off the crusty clothing, wincing at every chunk of dirt that falls off and breaks on the floor.  
He's adjusting the temperature when, suddenly, there's a tall figure next to the tub.  
Tony doesn't even flinch. He's used to teleporting by now, and it's been a long day. He straightens up.

  
A hand rests on his shoulder and gently nudges Tony around.

  
“You're shivering.” There’s concern in that voice, but only fondness in those eyes. He draws Tony close. Tony sees a green shimmer in the corner of his eyes and a blanket of warm air envelopes him.

  
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tony mumbles, not really caring about how much dirt he gets on the shoulder he's resting his head against. At least it's not wet leather, which would be uncomfortable to rest one’s head on.

  
“I am no Captain,” Loki says.

  
He snorts, at that. “True.”

  
It's nice, having someone to lean against.

 

-

 

Eventually, the water is ready. It's a large enough tub for both of them. Everything on this realm is large, but Tony's slowly getting used to it.

  
They sink into the water, which is perfectly hot. Tony just wants to get all the dried mud off his skin, and Loki seems to agree. Loki’s fingers can find the exact spots to press in so that Tony feels boneless. The slow circles his hands follow as he massages shampoo into Tony's hair is nothing short of divine.  
Loki is curious, however, and doesn't let them sit in silence for long.

  
“So, tell me. What were the results of the duel?”

  
Tony sighs. “It's like you said, 'There’s nothing more exciting to them than an ongoing feud’. I couldn't believe how many people there were. I didn’t even put my stick away until most were gone.”

  
“The staff, yes. The victor's tent was worse,” Loki reminds him.

  
“I don’t doubt it. But they all wanted to talk about it with me, some way or another. Fandral was practically pushing me to demand a rematch.”

  
“I see. It's going well, then.”

  
A pause.

  
“I hate it when you're right about people,” Tony says. “It’s more exhausting than I thought, pretending to hate you.” His mind wanders back to the end of the duel, when it almost seemed like Loki was going to offer a hand to help him up, but didn't.

  
“It's only until this visit is over,” Loki says, “And then we can go back to Earth and flirt in front of Fury until he yells.”

  
Tony laughs. “Sounds like a plan.”

  
“Close your eyes. I'm going to rinse your hair now.”

  
Tony does so.

Their fingers are wrinkled and the water is draining away.  
Tony yawns. “I don’t wanna go to dinner. Too many suck ups, and most of them expect me to grin when they complain about you. And I'm sleepy.”

  
Loki bears his complaining with a fond smile. “I could do something to fix the fatigue. It should last until the end of the feast.”

  
They both know that not going to the feast would cause a scandal, especially since it's supposed to be in honor of the winner of the duel. (Asgardians always use fights as an excuse to get drunk and eat tons of food.)

  
“Like magic coffee?” Tony wonders aloud, “What’re the side effects?”

  
“No, not coffee. You will only sleep in tomorrow morning.”

  
Tony wrinkles his nose at that and Loki chuckles. “Fine,” he says, “It’s not coffee, but I'll take it. Don't have anything planned tomorrow morning anyway.”

  
Loki presses his fingers to Tony’s temples, and he hums at the cool sensation that washes over him.

After Tony has toweled, he asks, “Couldn't you have chosen chess? That mud was horrific.”

  
“It was inconvenient, yes, but I had to choose something physical that I could win at. And I told you,” Loki says, mirth dancing in his eyes, “I'm good with staffs.”

  
Tony takes the bait. “Oh yeah? Maybe you could help me handle mine?”

  
He snickers.

  
“What's so funny?” Tony growls playfully and tackles him onto the bed.

  
Loki lets him, and it turns into a game of mock wrestling.

  
Tony pauses over Loki, his hands a steady weight on Loki’s wrists. They're breathing faster. They're much warmer now that they're out of the rain. Or maybe because they're so close...

  
Loki raises an eyebrow, not breaking free. He's exactly where he wants to be.

  
“You dick,” Tony says fondly, “Dinner’s starting soon.”

  
“So?” He says this gently, as if pointing out something.

  
“We can't miss it.” He slides off of him and releases his wrists.

  
“We can be late,” Loki says. “I'll tell them you were annoyed that I won.”

  
It's hopeless. Tony can't argue with an excuse like that, and he doesn't want to go to the feast anyway. “And I'll say I was annoyed with how you pinned me down,” Tony says, smiling.

  
“Who’s holding whom down, now?” Loki sits up, a certain glint in his eyes.

  
They kiss. First, tenderly, lips barely brushing, then deeply and passionately. A poet that had just seen the duel could have written a line about how they kiss the same way they battle. But luckily, there isn't anyone around to concoct such a pretty lie.

  
They know the difference between love and war, better than most. It has nothing to do with what others see on the outside, and everything to do with how one feels. Here, out of sight, it feels like home.


End file.
